


Guard Duty

by plothound



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Armor, Armor Kink, First Time, Hand Jobs, M/M, Touch-Starved
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-01-08
Packaged: 2019-03-02 07:55:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13313835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plothound/pseuds/plothound
Summary: An Imperial death trooper on assignment on a backwater planet has an odd encounter with his superior.





	Guard Duty

**Author's Note:**

> Touch-starved death trooper, armor, hand job, lots of evidence of good old-fashioned Imperial brainwashing.

ADT-723 stood guard. His back was perfectly straight. His armored boots were shoulder width apart. His helmet pointed straight across the room, though his eyes kept up a continual scan of the room's entrances and structural weak points. His gauntleted hands were on his weapon, and he was motionless. 

 

Provincial Governor Tet Ondala was sprawled on the bed, his upper body elevated by a number of pillows. The bed was not made, 23 noted, and most of its numerous soft furnishings were not Imperial issue. Violations of regulations, two of hundreds that 23 had privately kept track of since his arrival in Asabel. They would no longer be private, not after tonight's attack. The governor would have to be made to see sense, and if he would not, then 23 would have to file a request for demotion and replacement with his next report. 

 

A small part of him, one that had not existed prior to this assignment, felt a tinge of reluctance at the idea. Ondala's governing style was wildly out of line with Imperial recommendations, and so 23 heartily disapproved of it, but it did seem almost effective, in its own way. Almost. Asabel would still be much more secure with a replacement.

 

The governor rubbed his bandaged shoulder through his shirt, winced, and reached over to imbibe another alcoholic drink. He finished the small quantity in a few gulps and set the glass gently back down on the bedside table, which 23 mentally ticked off as not of Imperial issue. Another violation. The glass was standard, though, and the alcohol might have been. 23 didn't know enough about alcohol to be certain.

 

“Fancy a drink, Captain?” Ondala asked.

 

23 closed his eyes briefly behind his helmet's dark-tinted visor to contain his exasperation. “No thank you, sir.”

 

Ondala smiled. “Yeah, didn't particularly think so.”

 

“Then why did you ask?” 23 muttered after quickly muting his external audio emitters. 

 

“Are you all right?” Ondala asked. The smile had dropped from his voice, and had been replaced by something that took 23 a moment to identify as genuine concern. 

 

23 turned his external audio back on with a click of his teeth. “Fine, sir,” he said, careful to mask his surprise.

 

The governor was silent for a few seconds. “Are you sure?” he said finally. “I mean, really?”

 

“Yes, sir. The only injuries sustained tonight were your own.” A bolt of shame ran through him. He and his squad had one task, and one task only, and they'd manage to muck that up.  _ Someone should've seen that bomb. _

 

“Just that you haven't seen any action since you got here, and I thought it might be a bit of a shock to the system.”

 

“No, sir,” 23 said, bewildered and rather insulted. “We all have extensive combat experience, sir.”

 

“Right,” Ondala said. He sounded a little awkward. He remained sitting up for another minute or so, then rolled over delicately, favoring his shoulder, and pulled a blanket over himself. It was a red-orange quilt, definitely another violation. 23 settled back into a routine of scanning the room, waiting for his team to call in with results of the search. He doubted that the culprit would be found, but it was possible.

 

Around half an hour later, Ondala sat up again. 23 watched him, his helmet never moving. The governor rubbed his head slowly, massaging his temples. When he did nothing further, 23 went back to checking the windows, wishing, not for the first time, that they were smaller, and preferably reinforced with durasteel bars. Transparisteel was all well and good until someone hit it with a hydraulic ram, or even a powerful improvised explosive.

 

“Captain, have you ever been touched by another person?” 

 

Even in his blank surprise, 23 noted the use of ‘person’ rather than ‘human’. Just the sort of pandering to aliens that the Empire discouraged. Not a violation, but not a good thing. “Yes, sir. My squad. Sparring partners. Medical officers. Sir.”

 

“When was the last time?”

 

“Medical examination before this posting, sir,” 23 said, completely nonplussed. The man had had to touch him to take his vitals. He had been afraid; 23 had seen it in his quick, jumpy movements, and in the speed of the examination, which had been beyond the Empire's usual efficiency.

 

“And you've been here about a month.”

 

“Twenty-nine days, including today, sir.”

 

Ondala nodded slowly, rocking back and forth a little. Then he nodded more sharply once, put his legs over the side of the bed, and got to his bare feet, wincing. 23 watched him warily, not letting his body move. The governor came right up to him, inches away, and 23 didn't like it at all. He wasn't intimidated—the governor was nearly a foot shorter than him and built thinner, and of course had only the barest combat training—but he didn't like it.

 

Ondala lifted a hand and put it gently on 23's vambrace. 23 looked down at it, making sure that Ondala wasn't fiddling with any of his comms or sensors. He couldn't feel the hand through the armor. He spared a quick glance at Ondala's face, but the governor was looking at 23's hands. Ondala let his hand move slowly down the smooth black vambrace, paused briefly at the end, and then let his fingers touch the space between 23's vambrace and hand plate.

 

23 didn't feel much through the heavily reinforced stab-proof bodysuit, but it was still an odd sensation, one he was unprepared for. He stopped himself from breathing in sharply, but he felt a few of his muscles tense. He didn’t understand what the problem was. It was just a hand on his wrist. Perhaps it was the slowness of Ondala's movements. Yes, that would be it. The difference in speed was giving the contact more meaning than it otherwise would have had.

 

Ondala unsealed the suit at the wrist joint and touched the centimeter or so of bare skin that was exposed, and 23 took in a breath that was nearly a gasp. He saw his chest plate rise sharply with the intake of air, and he saw Ondala see it. The fingers went motionless, and did not move again until 23 let out the breath. It came out shaky, but he was too occupied with the feeling to get annoyed at himself about it. 

 

The tips of Ondala’s fingers stroked the narrow strip of skin. The touch was light and slow, unlike anything 23 had ever experienced. He felt his eyes close and his breathing deepen and quicken. There was warmth bleeding into his wrist, along with a sort of tingling that ran up his arm a distance. The fingers squeezed under his bodysuit a little, making their way up his forearm with excruciating slowness, rubbing in gentle circles. He leaned his head back a little, reveling in the sensation, the pleasure, the touch. 

 

Ondala paused when he reached 23’s vambrace, unable to go any further, and then made his slow, exquisite way back down, easing the bodysuit back against 23’s skin, not letting the tight material snap back. When he reached the glove of the suit, he began working his way under that, moving in exquisite patterns, shifting from side to side or in delicate circles. 23 felt a hard, unyielding fingernail just touch him next to the pad of a finger, and took an extra long, deep breath. He let it out as slowly as he could, and felt himself actually tremble a little. He had never felt anything like this, never. It was incredible, spreading warmth throughout his body, lulling his mind into utter relaxation. 

 

Ondala's hand left his, and his eyes snapped open. “No!” he said, his voice infuriatingly uneven, and he actually leaned forward slightly, as if to pursue the touch. He barely managed to choke off the word before its natural end, and felt shame and anger boil through him. He flinched back to a proper upright position, shoulders back, helmet facing dead ahead, glad that his hands had at least never shifted away from their proper place on his weapon. “Apologies, sir. I overstepped, sir. It won’t happen again.”

 

Ondala stood frozen, his hand part of the way back toward his head, obviously having moved to push a stray lock of longer-than-regulation hair back into the main mass from where it had escaped onto his forehead, an expression of shock on his face. 

 

23 resisted a sudden and powerful urge to turn around and bash his helmet violently against the wall.  _ Fool!  _ Fool, fool, fool! He'd lost his head for a simple, pointless touch, had relaxed his guard, had closed his eyes, for the Empire's sake, had _ actually presumed _ to give a superior an order,  _ sickening! _ And his bodysuit was still unsealed, he'd have to change position obviously to fix it. He wondered whether it was better to do it now, or to wait until the governor was back in bed, and in the meantime stand here looking ridiculous with that strip of skin visible on his right wrist, stark against the black armor and rifle. 

 

Ondala was still staring at him, eyes wide. He swept the escaped lock back where it belonged. “You didn't overstep. It's okay. It's okay.” He put a hand on each of 23's bicep plates and looked up at more or less where his eyes were. “You're okay, Captain. It's all right, you did nothing wrong.”

 

23 remained firmly in position, keeping his breathing tightly under control, despite his brain crying out at him to bring in more oxygen. The governor deserved a response, it was stupid not to respond to a superior, but he couldn't think of anything to say. He had never not known what to say. He had always simply delivered facts and data when asked, reassured or insulted his squadmates as needed, even made idle chatter with them now and then. This was different, there were no right words, he  _ couldn't think of them, _ he was  _ failing. _ This ridiculous situation was entirely his fault, proof that he needed to stay in his place, stick to regulations, not allow Ondala to influence him, and he  _ couldn't think of the right words. _

 

Ondala's hands moved up to the gap between the bicep plates and the pauldrons, where 23 could feel them faintly. “It's all right, Captain.” His hands rubbed in slow circles, then squeezed gently. “You're all right. It's okay to want this.” A finger on each hand traced the top edge of the bicep plates. “And it's okay not to.” The touch was so muffled through the bodysuit, a bare shadow of what it could be. “You can tell me. Either way.”

 

23 tried hard to resist. He didn't need the touch again. Once was enough. The memory would be enough, if he ever felt particularly in need. It would be enough. Perhaps if he touched his own skin with the same slow, delicate movements, he could replicate the feeling. It would be enough. He didn't need this. He had been perfectly content for his entire life. He could easily go the rest of his life without it.

 

It was the thought of never being touched like that again that undid him.

 

“Please,” he said. His voice was still horribly shaky, as if he were going to cry, with a desperation that he had never heard in his own voice or that of his squadmates before. “Please. Sir.”

 

The governor's voice and expression were soft and cautious and gentle. “Do you want me to keep going?” he asked, his hands resting still where 23's upper arm met his shoulder.

 

23 nodded, not the single, sharp, controlled nod that he was used to in himself and his squadmates, but a series of uncontrolled small ones. “Please.” That horrible desperation was still in his voice, making it sound weak and powerless, a child begging, but he couldn't muster up proper anger at himself. The anticipation was too great.

 

Ondala reached up and removed the black captain's pauldron that rested over 23's right shoulder. Then he detached the two main pauldrons from the adhesive panels on the bodysuit. He set all three down on the floor gently and placed his hands back on 23's shoulders. 23 felt utterly naked without the pauldrons, but the feeling was all but forgotten when Ondala unsealed the bodysuit at the shoulder junctions and touched the exposed skin there. 

 

It was bliss again. The fingers were so gentle, and now they were in two different places, their movements mirrored. And the skin of his shoulders felt so much closer than that of his hand. Ondala had in fact come a little closer than previously in order to touch 23's shoulders more easily, but he felt much closer than that, as if 23's shoulders were closer to the center of his being than his hand was. 23 had never considered that his being might have a center. He let his eyes close again, let his head tip back a little, let his breathing deepen. It felt so  _ good, _ Ondala touching him, that contact, the warmth and the gentle pressure and the soft tingle that came with it. 

 

Ondala worked his fingers under the bodysuit toward 23's neck, moving with the same exquisite slowness as before, with infinite care. He moved in circles at first, then branched out into more complicated patterns that 23 felt no need to follow or name. He reached the divot between the deltoid and the trapezius before the bodysuit became too tight to continue. He stayed there for a while. By the time he began to work his way back, 23 felt like he was melting.

 

“There,” Ondala breathed. “There. Just relax.” He slid his fingers out from under the bodysuit and placed his hands on 23's shoulders, still rubbing, letting his thumbs splay out toward the top of the trooper's chest. “There you go.” The movement stopped, and 23 opened his eyes and looked down at the governor, feeling languid and slow.

 

“How're you feeling?” Ondala wasn't really smiling, but he wasn't frowning. His voice was soft and gentle. 

 

“Good,” 23 murmured. He had never murmured before. 

 

“Good,” Ondala said. He slid his right hand away from 23's shoulder and trailed it across the chest plate. 23 followed its progress with his eyes, unable to feel it. Ondala traced a path carefully down 23's armor, skipping over the rifle. He touched the belt and went off to the side, down to where 23's left leg met his body. He touched the bodysuit at the junction, and 23 felt himself start. That felt oddly different.

 

Ondala was looking at 23's eyes, or at least at the helmet's visor. “Have you ever been touched here before?” he asked, low and serious.

 

“No,” 23 said, feeling concern edge into his voice.

 

Ondala nodded. “Do you know what may happen if I do?”

 

“I know what sex is,” 23 said uncomfortably.

 

“Have you ever come before?”

 

23 was silent, unsure of what was being asked.

 

“Have you ever had an orgasm?” Ondala clarified.

 

“No,” 23 said. “We... aren't supposed to have the distraction, sir.”

 

“Would it be all right if I gave you one?”

 

23 hesitated. While being touched was not technically against any regulations, having sex certainly was against a number of them. He was silent for a while, considering. He had never had any desire to engage in sex beyond the quick clench in his abdomen that he got when he saw people in the act, a rare occasion. But he had never had any desire to be touched, either. Perhaps sex would be the same. Of course, he and his squadmates were heavily discouraged from sexual activity. They were meant to be free from that vice, among many others. Lust was for civilians and lesser soldiers. Death troopers were incorruptible. They could never be seduced or distracted.

 

“Yes,” 23 said.

 

Ondala nodded. He still looked very serious. He used both hands to gently remove 23's codplate and set it down. Then he put his hands on the thigh plates and moved slowly upward, easing onto the bodysuit. 23 felt an odd thrill. The hands touched his sexual organs through the suit, and he took in a sharp, shuddering breath, his body stiffening, his head tilting back as his back arched. Ondala kept touching him, cupping, applying gentle pressure, and 23 felt a vaguely familiar clenching in his lower belly, and then a feeling of tightening, as if there were muscles tensing in his groin.

 

“Oh, good,” Ondala said. 23 looked down and saw that he was smiling, his hand cupping a bulge that was larger than 23 was used to and still growing. “I was worried they'd given you hormone blockers or something,” he said, giving the bulge a gentle squeeze, “but you're doing just fine.” He poked around for the bodysuit's crotch seal for a time before he found it. 

 

When his fingers touched 23's cock, 23 couldn't help himself. He moaned softly and leaned his head back further. The sensation he had felt when Ondala had touched his hand and shoulders was present, the joy of contact, but over the top of that was something that inspired a more urgent need. It ached.  _ He _ ached. But it wasn't pain. It was something else. 

 

Ondala eased 23's cock out of the bodysuit, and 23 learned what it felt like to have an erection handled. He managed to contain himself as Ondala played with his balls and massaged the skin of his pelvis, and then slipped further down to touch the sensitive skin of his perineum, but when Ondala took 23's cock in hand and began to stroke, 23 let out another shaky moan and whispered, “Shit.”

 

“Good, isn't it?” Ondala said, grinning. He touched the skin of 23's right shoulder with the hand that was not giving 23 an entirely new feeling.

 

“Yes,” 23 breathed. He was being touched, he was being touched, that feeling was warm and gentle, and he was being  _ touched, _ and  _ that _ feeling was deep and overpowering. And hot, like there were waves of heat flowing from his cock. He felt his armor's climate control system kick up a notch. He was breathing deeply, but every time Ondala made a different movement, his breath would catch. The strokes alternated between long, slow ones and shorter, faster ones.

 

Ondala took his hand away, spat on it, and began stroking more forcefully, and 23 gave up. He let go of his rifle and reached up behind Ondala to put his hands on the governor's back, pulling him closer, his fingers digging in more firmly than he had intended. Ondala chuckled. “All right, but be gentle, Captain.” 

 

23 didn't respond. He was occupied with the way Ondala's hand was moving on his cock, and he was utterly overwhelmed. The hand on his shoulder was now clenched tight, digging into the bodysuit, the palm against his skin. His balls had tightened, and his cock was pulsing. He was panting, his hips twitching. There was an overpowering sense of deep urgency. Then, suddenly, something rose up in him, a sensation of impending... something. They had to stop, or something was  _ going to happen. _ “Sir,” he croaked. Then, more urgently, “Sir. Sir!” Ondala only picked up the pace, driving 23 right into whatever was coming.

 

23 bucked forward, not knowing or caring why, gripping Ondala tightly, and moaned. He felt a contraction and release so profound that his entire body clenched, and then another, and another. Each one was like a wave, building and building until it crashed, and there was something coming out of him, and several more wracked him before he began to relax. Ondala continued to slowly stroke him, and a few more shuddering contractions followed, making him tremble but producing nothing more.

 

23 let go of Ondala and slumped against the wall, taking long, deep breaths. He glanced down at himself and saw Ondala's hand sliding over his cock, gathering a pale, viscous fluid that he realized must be semen. As he watched, Ondala let go, lifted his dripping fingers to his mouth, grinned, and licked himself clean. 23 felt a tingle in his lower belly at the sight. He felt oddly tired.

 

“Not bad for your first time,” Ondala said. “You'll last longer with practice.” He leaned forward and kissed 23's chest plate, and 23 arched his back weakly. He really did feel tired. He and the others were of course trained in working through exhaustion, but this was different somehow. Sleep sounded like the best possible course. He let out a long, low sigh, letting his eyes close. Just a few minutes.

 

“Hey, don't fall asleep on me,” Ondala said. 23 opened his eyes and looked down at him. Ondala smiled. “Sorry, but I'm afraid you can't. Bombing, remember? My life possibly in danger? This is what I got assigned a squad for, right?”

 

23 straightened up, suddenly mortified. Reality was rapidly rushing back to him. He had not only had sexual relations with an Imperial official while on assignment, but he had done so at a time when he needed to be at his best, when said official was at threat. If they had been attacked while his attention was compromised, they could both have been captured or killed. He hurriedly tucked himself back into his suit and sealed it up. “Sorry, sir,” he said as he reattached his codplate and pauldrons. He paused. “Thank you, sir.”

 

“Surely we're on a first-name basis now? At least when we're not in company. You have the advantage of me on that front, I'm afraid.”

 

23 hesitated. Calling a superior by their first name was heavily discouraged. He was unsure whether he should try to work himself up to it or end this now, put his foot down on Ondala's backwards policies.

 

“Your name, Captain. Go on.”

 

“ADT-723,” 23 said, biting back a ‘sir’. For now.

 

Ondala's smiled disappeared. For a moment he looked annoyed. Then something else dawned on him, a deep sadness—no, pity. 

 

A few minutes earlier, the sight would have infuriated 23. There wasn't a being in the galaxy with any right to pity him. He was one of the Empire's best assets, a lifelong soldier, trained from birth, more effective than any since the Old Republic's Fett-clone commandos, and utilized better than those poor sods ever had been. He and his squad were bringing peace and justice to the galaxy with every assignment. It was they who would pity the rest of the galaxy, if they cared to. 

 

Now, Ondala's look just confused him. Now that he knew what it felt like to be touched, he was suddenly unsure. Perhaps the Empire had not been… entirely wise in depriving him and his brothers of contact. The idea made him uneasy. But look what that touch had made him do: drop his guard, allow his attention to be distracted. Surely it was better to stay away from it entirely.

 

“ADT-723,” Ondala said, nodding slowly. “Do you have a more private name?”

 

“23,” 23 said without thought. When it became clear that Ondala thought that he was mocking him, 23 clarified, “My squad is ADT-723 through ADT-727. So we call each other by the last two digits in private.”

 

Ondala nodded again, that look of tragic pity still on his face. “Twenty-three,” he said, “I'm glad to have met you.” He wrapped his arms around 23 in what 23 assumed was probably a tight embrace. 

 

After a moment's hesitation, 23 awkwardly took a hand off of his rifle and put it on Ondala's back in an attempt to return the gesture. He really needed to stop this.

 

“You might say something in return, you know,” Ondala said, a smile in his voice.

 

“Thank you,” 23 said. It sounded trite and false. “Really. I... thank you. I didn't know…”

 

Ondala stepped back and smiled up at him. “You’re welcome, Twenty-three.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is from about a year ago. In essence, I saw the death troopers, went "oh my god I need to get railed by one of those guys immediately," decided to write a fic to that effect, and promptly fell back on my Republic Commando roots and wrote about a socially and emotionally isolated brainwashed death trooper who needs affection instead. There's more of it, but it's pretty much just me poking around for possible plot directions and not liking any of them, so I probably won't be posting it.


End file.
